The writing curls like silver threads

Which bend and knot and tangle-

Fragment into a million shreds

It is with these I wrangle.


The words do not assert themselves

They fade like rings of smoke

A whisper lisps on wisps of wind

From a voice that choked and broke.


It is a world of words that haunts me

I cannot make it mine

I make these crawling scrawlings

But all they do is rhyme.


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